


ELEVEN

by JCommentNumber2



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Conspiracy, Depressed Eleven | Jane Hopper, Friendship, Government Conspiracy, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Inspired by Stranger Things (TV 2016), Original Character(s), Other, Police Officer Steve Harrington, Sad, Smoking, rated T
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-08-28 09:46:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16721016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JCommentNumber2/pseuds/JCommentNumber2
Summary: Eleven is alone. That much is clear. Alone and on the run, for the past few years, going from city to city, town to town, keeping mostly to herself. But within the past year, she has found herself attached to the city of New York, and the criminal underworld that it hides beneath it's attractive exterior.Eleven can’t hide what she is forever, and soon she must abandon this home as well. But in that time, she may have a chance to feel something more than the feeling of isolation she has grown used to, and overcome the hatred at the people who stole everything from her with nothing more than a single bullet.





	1. Foreword

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OTTSTF](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OTTSTF/gifts), [Dblukauskis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dblukauskis/gifts).



**Foreword**

 

 **Canon Divergence:** A canon divergence AU is a term used in some fandoms for fanfiction set in a universe that diverges relatively narrowly from canon, with a point of departure in a character's backstory or even during canon.

For this setting, the point of Divergence is December 1984. In this world, the events of any coming season simply do not occur, no matter how interesting they may be. As a result, this is a much darker future for the characters of _**Stranger Things.**_ Our story begins almost Nine years after the end of Season 2, and begins on July 22nd 1993.

Eleven is alone. That much is clear. Alone and on the run, for the past few years, going from city to city, town to town, keeping mostly to herself. But within the past year, she has found herself attached to the city of New York, and the criminal underworld that it hides beneath it's attractive exterior. Eleven can’t hide what she is forever, and soon she must abandon this home as well. But in that time, she may have a chance to feel something more than the feeling of isolation she has grown used to, and overcome the hatred at the people who stole everything from her with nothing more than a single bullet.

This is a story I have been toying with for almost a year now. A story of ‘what if we had a story set in the 90s, following Eleven’s adulthood? But following it with her alone and as a fugitive from a government that won’t leave her alone?’ I plan to make this the first of a coming series, and if I get my act together and keep my mind on it, that idea will indeed come to light.

 

 **Warning:** For all of you Mileven lovers out there, this isn’t one of those stories, and if you wish to keep reading, very well. But we shall establish one thing here. Mike Wheeler is dead in this timeline, and has been for years. So read at your own risk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My pimary inspiration for this fanfic comes in the form of music, which I think really sets the tone for just what kind of story it will be.  
> “011” ST Concept Score  
> https://youtu.be/RIj0KfnGgIQ
> 
> I do not claim ownership of this music, it was merely inspiration.


	2. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> San Jose, California. Agents Stevens and Müller of the Federal Bureu of Investigation pay a house call to a certain Doctor Eric Burton.

**San Jose, California**  
**July 22nd 1993**  
**18:06 PM**

It was unusually quiet on River View Drive. Not many people were outside at this time of day, and every now and then, a sole car would drive past. The sun was slowly sinking down out of view in the late hours of the afternoon, and a gentle warm breeze blew throughout the gardens of houses that lined the street, and the leaves of the trees and bushes that dotted the sides of the road. In short, it was a beautiful summer’s evening in the city of San Jose.

Children would walk their dogs at this time of day. Teenagers would be out driving their new cars, hoping to impress their friends or their crush. Men would either be working late while others would be watching the Television, hoping to catch the game or whatever news was on. It was the kind of place that captured the sunny and picturesque vision of ‘90s Suburban America. A nation recovering from the perils of the Cold War, finally free of the fear surrounding the Communists. Where the Government didn’t have to lie to it’s people any longer, or at least, that’s what was believed.

In this world, there were still one or two secrets that the US Government preferred to keep quiet, and would silence anyone who threatened that. Either with a warning, or usually, a bullet.

The peace of the quiet street was soon disturbed once more by the sounds of an approaching vehicle. From the North, a Black Sedan drove up the road towards River View Drive. A 1986 Chevrolet Caprice with a license plate that stated ‘US Government: For official use Only.’ As it climbed a small incline on Lyric Lane, it turned right on the intersection and proceeded onto River View Drive. The wheel rims reflected the sun and caused a slight glint in the metal. From inside the car, one of the occupants who was seated in the front passenger seat pointed to one of the houses that was coming up on the right. He spoke to the driver and motioned for him to pull the car into a parking space nearby.

There was a hum as the engine signified that the car was slowing to halt. The wheels shifted, and the car was brought to a stop in a small space behind a Ford. When the engine finally cut off, the two forward doors creaked open, and out stepped the feet of two smartly dressed men. Their shoes were a vibrant, polished leather, and both men wore smart trousers that matched the suits they both wore, one a dark brown and the other a navy blue. Both wore a pressed white shirt underneath and a long tie of matching colour to the jacket to go with it. One of them, the passenger, was significantly older than the other, with greying hair and a wrinkled face. He had piercing blue eyes. The driver on the other hand was much younger, with combed brown hair and a clean shaven chiselled jaw. Both men looked to be about two decades apart in age difference.

The older man turned to the driver, “Remember, we’re just here to talk to him. Don’t need any of that Rambo Shit you’re known for, okay?” The younger man nodded at him “sure boss, whatever you say.” Slamming his car door shut, the older man motioned for his friend to follow him. Closing and locking his door, he did as he was told. They made their way across the street towards the house they had come to visit. It was a very beautiful two story wood and brick structure, with the wood painted a vibrant cream colour. The roof was a chocolate brown, and really stood out in the sun. Approaching the front door, the older man held out his hand to signify that he would handle the introductions.

With a firm fist, he knocked on the front door. It took a minute, but finally, somebody answered the knocking. The door creaked open to reveal a small, skinny boy, possibly twelve to thirteen years of age. He had a mop of blonde hair. He said nothing to the two men stood on his doorstep.

“Hey there son, we’re here to speak to your father. Is he at home this evening?” The older man asked politely. The boy didn’t move, but looked at the two with interest. “yeah, he’s here. One second” and then he closed the door, leaving it ajar. “Dad! There’s some guys here to see you!” The two men gave each other a humoured look. They then heard much heavier footsteps approaching and the door was suddenly opened again. In front of them now stood a middle aged man, with black hair and glasses. He wore a pale blue shirt tucked into his brown trousers. “Can I help you gentlemen?”

“Are you Eric Burton? Doctor Eric Burton?” The man looked a little surprised. “Nobody’s called me Doctor Burton in about eight years.”  
Undeterred by his answer, the man simply smiled. “Nice to meet you, Doctor. My name is Agent Stevens, this is Agent Müller” he motioned to the younger man behind him “we’re with the FBI, and if you have five minutes, we have some questions we’d like to ask you.” Burton eyed the two agents in his doorway with suspicion, but eventually relented. “Yeah sure, just make it quick, we’re going to the movies in twenty minutes.”

Burton stepped aside as he allowed the two men inside of his home, closing the door behind them. The young boy, Burton’s son, was sat in the living room watching the TV. When he saw the two men, he wasn’t very happy. “But Dad, what about Jurassic Park?”

“Don’t worry son, we won’t be here long.” Agent Stevens assured the child. “Can I get you guys anything? Water, coffee?” Burton asked.

“No thanks, if all goes well, we really won’t be here that long” Stevens looked back st the kid sat watching TV. “Listen, It’s your home and I’m sorry, but I was wondering if your son would mind leaving the room? What we have to discuss, we’d rather it be spoken in private.”

Burton nodded, then went and turned off the TV “Dad, what the hell? I can keep secrets!”  
His father began to motion for his son to stand up. “Sorry son, but they’re right. I’m not asking much, so could you please just give us a few?” His son wasn’t happy, but nevertheless, he sighed and stood up. “Go play with that GI Joe I got you the other day” he called after him as the boy left the room. Burton sighed, then motioned at the couch.  
“Please gentlemen, sit.” The two Agents accepted the offer and sat themselves down on the couch. “Müller, that’s a German name right?” Burton asked the younger agent. Müller Glanced at his superior before answering the question, “Yeah my grandpa came over here in the thirties.” Burton nodded in understanding and the seated himself in the nearby arm chair. “So, what’s the purpose of this unexpected visit today?”

Stevens sat up straight in his seat “I apologise in advance if this may come as a shock to you, but two days ago I was called to the home of a Doctor Theodore Irons out in Las Vegas. I’m sorry to say that somebody murdered him, with a firearm. Multiple gunshot wounds to the torso. Thirty eight calibre, from what the Vegas Police found.”

Burton stopped Stevens “wait, Irons is dead?” He asked. “Yeah, we know you guys used to work together. Were you close?” Burton took off his glasses and rubbed them with a small cloth he had fished from his pocket. “Yeah we were. Well, I mean I haven’t seen him for five years, but when we were working together....he was a good friend.”

“You guys worked in one of those National Labs the DOE has set up all over the place right? Something to do with finding new ways to fight the commies?”

“Something like that yeah. We worked in the Hawkins Section, over in Indiana. ‘74 to ‘83.” He put his glasses back on.

“I heard of that place” said Müller. “Some kind of accident there right?”

“Yeah, but that was about the time I left. A year later the place closed. I had nothing to do with all of that. I left in September, before the leak.”

“Look, Doctor Burton, we don’t have any interest in what the public thinks happened at that place or what you were or weren’t involved in. We’re here about what happened to Doctor Irons and why. You see, Doctor Irons was murdered, we know that much. But we want to know why exactly. From what people told us, he didn’t have any close family, and lived a pretty private life.”

“Yeah, he was kind of a loner, even when we worked in the lab. He didn’t speak to many people, excluding myself. You think I might have an idea as to why he was murdered?” Asked the Doctor. “Something like that. We have reason to believe that his murder was more personal. If he’d pissed off the wrong people, then there’s little a guy like that who lives completely alone can do to stop it. Seen that kind of thing before.”

“A social life is a dangerous life. Guy who keeps to himself has few enemies, so they say” Müller said in a less than serious, yet matter of factly, tone. Stevens gave him a look, and then continued.

“Well, CCTV outside of his apartment building revealed that a woman entered and exited the building just before and after Irons was killed. We looked up her face in numerous police files from different departments throughout the years and we got a match. A woman wanted for multiple murders in the past fifteen years.” Stevens reached into his suit, and retrieved a small photograph. He handed it to Burton. “Have you ever seen this woman before? Only information we have on her is that her name is Kali Prasad, and that she’s of Indian origin.”

Burton felt his face twitch. He had indeed seen her face before, but that was a different time. And the woman in the still image of the CCTV footage looked a lot different to when he had last seen her.

“Want to know the funny side? The funny side is that in our research, we found that almost all of the murders she’s committed throughout her run have all worked for the Government in the past few years, particularly low level NSA analysts and Department of Energy Science workers. Nine years ago Chicago PD nearly had her when she went after a man named Ray Carroll, former Employee at the Hawkins Section.”  
Burton looked up from the photo. “I’ve met him, long time ago. He quit way back in the ‘70s I think.”

“We got her name from Austin PD. She was temporarily detained in Texas back in ‘86, but somehow she was able to vanish from custody.”

“And you think she might be at it again?” Asked Burton, handing back the photo.

“Yeah, But we don’t know why. Why would this one girl want to kill a bunch of retired science nerds? Unless she had a grudge” said Müller.

“We just wondered if you’ve ever seen or heard of this woman before. If she’s murdering these people based on their previous job descriptions, then we were concerned that she might be looking for you as well.”

Burton couldn’t say anything to these men, he realised that instantly. If the FBI found out the truth, any tiny part of it, then the law would be the least of his problems. He’d be bumped off in some dark alley somewhere if he so much as uttered a word, and then his son would be fatherless and his wife a widow. He hated to lie, but he did it anyway. “Sorry fellas, But I don’t know her. I’d love to help but I’ve never even heard of this girl. If Irons knew who she was, then he never contacted me about it. He was always the first one to alert the rest of us when something felt off, even if I hadn’t seen him for years.”

Stevens seemed to accept the answer, albeit with a suspicious mind. “Alright then, thank you for your time sir. If we hear anything in future, anything that may cause a threat for you and your family, we’ll get in touch with you. You have a nice evening now.” The two Agents then stood up from the couch, and Eric stood up with them. “Thank you gentlemen, I hope you catch her, and thank you for taking the time to warn me.” Stevens nodded and headed for the door. Müller however briefly stopped in the hallway.

“Just one thing I’d like to know Doc, just in case it may shed some light on the situation.” Stevens looked a little surprised that Müller had stopped to open his mouth, but he let him proceed anyway. “What exactly happened in that lab? I mean, what did you guys do?” The question was quite unorthodox, and Burton had an idea as to why he was asking him.  
The former Doctor only smiled at the Agent however “Some things people prefer not to know about Agent Müller. They like to pretend they know everything that goes on in the world, when really they know nothing at all, and are happy with just that. People like being ignorant.”

Müller grinned, apparently satisfied with the answer. “I’ve definitely heard that before.” And without another word, he followed his superior out of the door, who nodded. Burton watched from his window as they got back into their car and drove away. He thought about Kali Prasad. He thought about Number Eight, and how she was apparently still angry at what had been done to her.

If she was still alive, how many of the others were? Four, Six, Nine, were they still kicking? And then of course was the most powerful of them all, the one who still gave him nightmares, the things she could do.

For the most part, he was happy it was only Eight and not Eleven they had come to ask him about. But then again, if she was still alive, would that mean she was after him too? And if she ever found him, would there be anything he could do to stop her? He knew her power, her ability to locate people. And he settled on one fact that at least made him settle these thoughts. If she wanted to find him, she probably would have done it long ago.

That is, of course, if she was still alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the shitty gramma and short length, but this prologue was more or less just thrown together to introduce the FBI as a faction, and to lay out the fact that Kali is still alive.


	3. Charlatans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In New York City, Jane Hopper, going by the name of Jane Russell, has become involved in the criminal underworld of Queens.
> 
> At the centre of that underworld is a Motorcycle Gang, who call themselves The Charlatans.

**Hunters Point, Queens**  
**July 22nd 1993**  
**21:33 PM**

_“Good evening, our top story tonight. The Las Vegas Metropolitan Police are still currently investigating the death of Theodore Irons, a resident of Clark County Nevada. Mr Irons, a former Doctor with a PhD in Nuclear Physics, was found dead via multiple gunshot wounds in his apartment complex in Las Vegas two days ago. The FBI spokesperson on the case has requested that anyone in Clark County and the surrounding area to keep a look out for the prime suspect, a woman of Indian descent, who was caught on CCTV as the only person entering and exiting the apartment where Irons lived at the time of his death.”_

A loud slurping noise interrupted the newscaster on the TV above the bar. The crisp, delicious Coke made its way up the straw and into Jane’s mouth. She stopped focusing on the TV when she realised that her drink was now completely gone. Pushing it away from her, she raised her hand and motioned to the bartender for a refill. When he arrived at her space at the bar, he took her glass and set about refilling it.

“Same again, honey?” He asked, his gruff voice sounding slightly intimidating. She simply nodded.

“You sure I can’t get you a beer or somethin?” Jane shook her head, she had never touched alcohol. The bartender said nothing and simply refilled her glass of coke, passing it back to her. She put the straw between her lips and began to suck once more. The TV was now talking about some sporting event that was happening in Philadelphia this weekend, and it didn’t really interest her one bit.

She glanced slowly around the bar, watching the different patrons and imagining different scenarios in her head that she believed best suited their appearance. The two guys in overcoats, sat in the booth by the window, were there to discuss a potential drug trade between their two parties, hence their shady attire.

The young woman crying at a table near the centre of the room was an actress on Broadway who had just been told she had been fired from a production, and that’s why she was dressed in a tank top and a short skirt (better than believing that she was a prostitute who had just had the shit kicked out of her by a customer.)

The Bartender, Dave, with his large beard and top knot, along with his chubby physique, ran a drop for one of the local gangs, and they would stop by to leave their earnings in his care. And if he didn’t take care of it, god forbid.

Of course this fantasy was ruined by the fact that she knew Dave had a wife and kid at home.

Jane had been living in New York for close to a year now. It was the longest she had ever stayed in one place, except of course for Hawkins, but those years were behind her now, and she hadn’t been back there for quite some time. Her last hiding place hadn’t been so hidden, but it hadn’t been for the assholes who were still chasing her that she had to leave.

She had fallen into the bad graces of a drug kingpin over in Detroit. She knew she shouldn’t have stolen from him, but she had no choice. Times were hard, especially for her, and she knew it. But she was surprised the amount of heat that he sent after her over six hundred dollars, too much even for her to handle. She had left Detroit on a train, with about sixty angry machine gun wielding crackheads hot on her tail.

That word, Crackhead. If you had asked her six years ago what words like ‘crackhead’ or ‘kingpin’ had meant, she wouldn’t have been able to tell you. She hated to admit it, but in the five years she had been living this way, she had learned more about the world than her life in Hawkins had ever taught her.

She knew words that no young girl should ever have learned....words like whore.

That was a word they had called her plenty of times when they found out what she had done.

Jane was 22 years old now, and had been living this way for the past five years. Ever since that night. A night she didn’t like to think about, but a night that never left her nightmares. She wanted to drown her sorrows, but she couldn’t. She didn’t want the alcohol in her system, affecting her mood. She couldn’t lose control of her abilities. Not again.

She heard the door to the building open and close, and she felt a presence make it’s way over to the bar. She watched a hand deposit a five dollar bill on the counter. “Whiskey.”

Jane recognised the voice instantly. She looked over to him.

“Hello Mitchell”

“Hey there, Jane”

Mitchell was a young man, a biker, that she had known for about six months, the same amount of time she had known the gang he rode with. He was skinny, with a gaunt face, and a short, fuzzy beard. He wore a sleeveless leather jacket that bore the name of the gang he belonged to: ‘The Charlatans, NYC.’ He had long black hair and brown eyes. He could almost always been seen with a cigarette in his mouth.

“You not drinking tonight? Again?”

Jane rolled her eyes just out of his view “you know that I never drink. Or maybe you’re just too drunk to remember.” Mitchell chuckled and put his Marlboro out in the ash tray on the bar. “That’s funny. So what’re you doing here, girl?” Jane and Mitchell weren’t on bad terms, they often joked and teased each other. But if anyone watched their banter right now who didn’t know them, probably couldn’t tell.

“Clearing my head before I go to sleep.” She took another suck of her straw.

“You mean that dump you live at on the water? Thanks man” he collected his change as the bartender supplied him with his glass of whiskey.

“It’s got a bed and that’s all I really need.” Jane currently lived in the foreman’s office of an abandoned warehouse down by the water near 54th Avenue. It wasn’t paradise, and it was often cold, but it was a place to stay, and it was a place where people wouldn’t come looking. A few homeless folks with nowhere to go often camped out down by the water.

At least it didn’t leak when it rained.

“You know you could always just ask us for help. Bryan would give you a place to stay.” Jane felt warm at the offer. She had established herself as an invaluable tool in the past few months. She got by as an informant for The Charlatans, passing information to them from rival gangs from within the city and the surrounding area. They didn’t know how she did it, but she was good at it. In fact, some would say she was an invisible presence when she wanted to learn something.

Jane knew how she did it, and she wasn’t telling. Besides, they’d think her mad unless she could show them. And doing that would be a rather dangerous move.

“Thanks, but I can look after myself. Did you get the brakes fixed on your Harley yet?” Mitchell swigged his whiskey.

“Yup, how’d you think I got here? Lizzie’s sitting outside. Wanna take her for a spin?” Jane couldn’t understand these bikers and their obsessions with Motorcycles, and she especially couldn’t see the point in naming the freaking things. Mitchell had only gone and named his bike after an ex-girlfriend. She remembered, in his own words ‘I hate the bitch, but that doesn’t mean I have to stop riding her.’

“No thanks, I’m good.”

“Ah come on. At least let me take you back to your place.” Jane knew Mitchell wasn’t trying to be romantic. She knew she was a very attractive woman, and everyone could see it, but she kept the relationship she had with these people completely as friends.

Besides, Mitchell had heard of what had happened the last time some guy from Brooklyn had tried it on with her. As the story goes, he got a little too personal, and Jane straight up snapped his arm in two at the elbow. Even Bryan, a former military man, had trouble breaking someone’s legs with his bare hands, and that was why he kept a sledgehammer in his office.

Needless to say, the gang didn’t try anything funny with her whether they liked it or not.

Jane actually realised that it would take her nearly half an hour to get back to the warehouse. Feeling tired, as such, she actually decided to accept his offer. “Alright then, what the hell.”

Mitchell finished his whiskey.

“Hang on, shouldn’t you not be drinking and driving?” She didn’t want to jump on a motorcycle with someone who was drunk off their gourd.

“This is the first and only drink I’ve had today, I’ll be fine. Come on, let’s go.”

Jane sighed and reached into her pocket. She pulled out a handful of change and placed it on the counter. “Keep it Dave.” The bartender nodded at her and collected the money. “You stay safe out there, Honey.”

The girl then turned and followed the skinny Biker out of the door. The humid air of the street felt out of place in the dark, loud city. Cars barrelled down the road, one after the other, and people hurried up and down the sidewalks. The weather forecast had said that there would be a sudden downpour tonight, a welcome change from the heat that the city had currently been experiencing during the summer months. It was due to begin soon. Jane glanced around the street, actually thinking about nothing at all.

She was pulled from her thoughtless daydream by the voice of Mitchell “Come on darling, let’s go!” She looked over to see Mitchell climbing onto the back of his 1986 XLH 1100, removing the key from his pocket. He inserted and turned the key to unlock the ignition, and then he went through the starting procedure. Eventually, the bike roared to life, the front light flickering on as well. It was a rather nice bike, she had to internally admit to herself, with a black primary colour with a golden secondary streaked down the side. It said ‘Lizzie’ in red, fancy letters on one side.

She walked up toward him and climbed onto the bike as well. She hooked her hands around his body to prevent herself from falling off, and Mitchell kicked off the stand and began to move it backwards. He waited for a space between the cars to go, and when he found one, the bike veered onto the road and bolted down the street. Jane took in all the sights of Queens that she had grown used to within the past year. The famous yellow cabs of New York, and countless people dressed in odd clothing.

She saw prostitutes on street corners, and groups of men who would most likely be up to no good. On the drive, she only saw one NYPD vehicle, it’s blue and white colours highlighting it in the yellow street lamps. Queens was a less than ideal place to live, but she didn’t expect anyone to come looking for her here.

Jane no longer went by the name of Jane Hopper, and certainly not by the name of El. She had named herself differently for everywhere she had been, and New York was no exception. To the Charlatans, she was Jane Russell, a runaway from some Orphanage over in New Jersey who was abandoned by her parents.

She liked to use some aspects of her real life in her false ones, as she was sure that despite the fact they were orphans, any child would prefer living in an orphanage to living in a cold and miserable laboratory. She had chosen the name Russell this time after Kurt Russell, the leading actor in her favourite Horror film, The Thing.

The drive over to the waterfront was shorter than expected, and she soon saw the familiar large shape of Warehouse 2B coming into view. Mitchell pulled off the road and onto the street that led to the warehouse district. She could see the orange glow of what was likely a barrel fire in the distance, with some kids surrounding it.

“Just pull up here, I can walk the rest of the way” Mitchell pulled the brakes and slowed the bike to a halt. “You sure?” He asked her.

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” She climbed off the bike and gently patted him on the shoulder.

“Alright then, you have a good night. I’ll give your best to Bryan.” Jane smiled, and Mitchell winked at her. He then turned the bike around and drove it away. Jane watched and waited until he disappeared around the corner, and then she turned to the iron gate behind her. For her own safety, The gate to the warehouse buildings was always closed, and was too heavy for her to move by herself. But Jane wasn’t about to use her arms to open it.

Instead, she made sure that nobody was watching, before she held out her hand in front of her. Not all of the way, but enough to achieve the effect she so desired. She felt the tiniest ache from within her head, her brain pulsing from inside of her skull. She heard the ever so familiar ringing in her ears, and as she focused, she felt the tingling feeling within her fingertips.

She cast an invisible force through the air, and suddenly, the heavy, rusted iron gate began to open. It groaned and squealed as it was forced open by the girl with the special gifts, and as soon as she had raised her hand, she lowered it.

Squeezing her way through the opening, she turned to face it and again, the pulsing in her brain returned. Holding up her hand, the gate began to move again of its own accord. The rusted iron moaned as the gate closed itself, and when it was finally shut, she stopped.

Jane felt a familiar warm, wet feeling of a liquid dribbling out of her left nostril. Reaching into her pocket, she retrieved a napkin she had taken from the bar, and wiped her upper lip clean of the blood that was flowing out of her nose from the irritation within her nasal canal. Putting the napkin away again inside of her jacket, she turned and headed into the warehouse.

——————————————————————————————————————————

It was almost ten at night when Mitchell finally returned to the clubhouse. He pulled his Harley into the garage, where Frank was tinkering with his own. “Hey Frank. Still working on that injection?”

Frank, a pudgy man who always wore the same white shirt, stopped what he was doing and stood up.

“Yeah, I think I’m actually gonna have to get a new replacement. It just keeps popping.” He wiped his hands with a cloth and reached for his packet of cigarettes. “Damn man, sorry about that. Still, can’t have that piece of Shit backfiring while you’re on the road.”

“Yeah, tell me about it” he said, sticking the cigarette in his mouth. He flicked his lighter and it sparked up, holding it up to his face. “So where you been tonight man?” Mitchell locked up the ignition. “Went to visit my Mom for a bit, she’s alright. And then I stopped off at Joe’s up at Gordon Triangle. Saw Jane there as well.”

“Oh really?” Frank took a drag of his cigarette, and puffed the smoke out into the air.

“Yeah. Laying off the beer, as usual. You ever wonder what her deal is?” Mitchell sat on one of the stools near Frank, who pulled his own packet out of his jacket. When he couldn’t get his lighter to spark, Frank offered him his.

“Thank you” he took a long drag of his own and breathed the smoke out of his lungs. “What Jane does in her own time is her business. If she wants to tells us if anything’s bothering her, I’m sure she’d do it. Besides, she’s a rat, and you know rats, can’t trust half of em to be honest.”

“I don’t think she’d ever snitch on us...unless maybe if the price was right” they both shared a laugh at that “besides, she’s given us good, solid stuff so far.”

“Look, you got your opinion, I got mine. To be honest with you, it’s been six months, and I don’t know why Bryan still keeps her around” Frank said.

“Yeah well, so long as she delivers, I ain’t got a problem with her. I’m sure that’s Bryan’s reason as well.”

“Speaking of Bryan, he was asking for you. He’s upstairs in his office.”

Mitchell took in one more puff of his smoke, then doused it in the ashtray. He took the ignition key out of his pocket. “Watch the bike for me?” He asked, passing it to Frank. “Yeah, whatever.” He took the key and put in his own pocket.

Mitchell stood up and headed for the steps leading upstairs. He passed by the club’s black and gold Third Generation Ford Transit. The colours of black and gold could be found all over the building, on everything to do with the club. It was even on their logo. Of course, this was due to the two colours being the Charlatans club colours.

On his way up to the office, Mitchell would pass by the main club lounge and bar area. Everything about this place told you that you were currently in the headquarters of a Motorcycle club. There were photos on the walls of famous bikers and their Motorcycles, a map of the United States sat proudly on one wall. An American Flag hung over the bar, which was stocked with practically every kind of alcohol known to man. Pool and darts could be played in one corner of the room.

The Charlatans were founded back in ‘91. Bryan, the founder and President, was a former US Marine serving in Iraq, and had come back from service in Operation Desert Storm only nine months prior.

According to himself, he found returning to civilian life after six months of war to be utterly boring, and decided to add a little more action into his life. Thus, ‘The Charlatans, NYC’ was founded on October 15th 1991. Bryan claimed that despite his reasons for founding the club, he was keen to leave his military career and the things he had witnessed in the Gulf behind him.

However, despite this claim, he still kept a loaded Beretta 92 in the top drawer of his desk. The others had their own other choice of firearm, and had simply figured ‘once a Jarhead, always a Jarhead.’

Mitchell passed a few familiar faces on his way up toward the office floor. Chuck, to name one, was an African American man with a shaved head and a black moustache that didn’t really suit him. He was drinking and talking with James, an older, more surly biker who had a long and grey unkempt beard. He’d been into Motorcycles for most of his life, and had been looking to join a gang after he was forced out of the last one back in ‘78.

Chuck was the first one to call out to him.

“Hey yo, Mitch! Bryan was-“

“Yeah yeah I know, he wants to see me.”

“I’ll bet it’s about that pretty little number he likes to keep around, what’s her name? Jessie! Heard she tucked tail last week, probably wants you to win her back for him.” Mitchell rolled his eyes at the two of them.

“Hey I sure Fucking hope not, I might try hitting that if she ever comes back.” Chuck laughed at his own joke, which Mitchell didn’t really find that funny. He made his way up the stairs behind the bar.

“You’re an asshole, Chuck” he yelled as he climbed the wooden steps.

 

 

 

Mitchell reached the second floor, leaving the two drunken fools and the rock music they were listening to behind him. He found himself on the same old landing with three doors on his right. He made his way to the middle door and rapped on it hard.

“Come in!” Came the voice from inside. Mitchell opened the door and saw Bryan sitting in his chair, staring out of the window. A bottle of scotch was open on the desk and the ash tray was full of discarded butts. The yellow light of the room didn’t do much for illumination. “You wanted to see me?” Turning to the door, Bryan’s face became a little brighter as he stood up from his seat.

“Oh hey Mitch, yeah thanks” Bryan was a rather muscular guy, who usually wore a denim jacket with the club’s logo on the back. He kept his face in a stubble, with his long brown hair in a ponytail. He always wore the same cargo pants and combat boots. “Can I pour you a drink or anything?”

Mitchell was tempted, but he refused. “Nah that’s okay. So what’s up?” He came in and closed the door behind him. Bryan picked up the bottle and refilled his glass, taking a swig of the brown liquid. He swallowed and savoured the taste. “I need this now, more than any medicine.” Mitchell noticed a slight tone of fear in his voice.

“Why? What’s going on?”

Bryan took another swig. He put the glass down and leaned against his desk. “Alright....it’s Gabriel Montoya.”

Mitchell had heard the name. Everyone had. He ran the second largest drug operation on the east coast. In recent years he’d focused more on the cities of Chicago and Detroit, but he was last seen over in Boston five months ago.

“Montoya? I thought he was up in Massachusetts?”

“He was, but three days ago he arrived in Manhattan. He’s setting up shop in Harlem. We know what that means.”

Mitchell knew full well what it meant. Montoya was well known in the criminal underworld. His story began down in Colombia, where he began working as a Sicario for Pablo Escobar in 1980. However, when he failed a job in Bogotá in ‘89, he fled the country and came to the States, where he began to set up his own operation in Miami. Montoya knew now that his name would be worthless back in Colombia, and so he made himself into one of the most ruthless drug lords the United States had ever known.

The DEA and the FBI had been clawing their own eyes out trying to catch the bastard for years. “So you think he’s gonna try and absorb us?” Mitchell Asked.

“Absorb us, control us, make us into his own little personal fucking yapping poodles. I got a guy, tells me he’s already taken down Santos.”

“He pulled Santos out of power already?”

“No I mean he shot the bastard in the head and burned his joint to the Fucking ground!”

Luis Santos was a Dominican American man who owned the streets near Riverton Square up in East Harlem. He was a well connected guy who had apparently just had his world stripped away by some Colombian drug Lord in less than a week.

“Jesus Christ” Mitchell eyed the scotch on the desk. He grabbed it and and ignoring the glasses, took a massive swig directly from the bottle. Bryan necked his own drink as Mitchell downed two massive gulps.

“So what are our options then?” Mitchell asked, putting down the bottle. Bryan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “The way I see it, he’s working his way across the city so I’d say we have at least a week.”

“We’re not exactly as far away as Sheepshead Bay here Bryan.” Mitchell could see his boss was panicking, but he didn’t want to show it.

“I know that, but at the moment we need to keep a level head. We think of a strategy, a suitable arrangement, if we play this right, we can stay in the game. This guy can and will kill us if we don’t play ball.” Bryan knew what he was talking about, he’d experienced situations like this before. Fight or flight situations.

“We could always just relocate.” Mitchell suggested. “No, if we’re seen to be ditching Queens, nobody would ever take us seriously again. They’d think us cowards. It ain’t exactly American to run from a fight.” Bryan closed the bottle of scotch and put it back under his desk.

Mitchell looked down at his feet, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his smokes. He offered one to Bryan, who graciously accepted. The latter picked up his lighter off of the desk and sparked them both up. They inhaled the smoke deep into their lungs, both of them badly needing it.

“So...what’s the plan...for right now, I mean? When do we tell the guys?”

Bryan exhaled the smoke out his mouth and back in through his nostrils. “Tomorrow, I’ll call a meeting, when they’re all sober. We need to be serious about this right now.”

Mitchell nodded and took another puff of his cigarette. There was a lasting silence between the two men, before Bryan spoke.

“Have you seen Jane recently?” Mitchell instantly knew what he was implying, and he didn’t like it.

“No Bryan, come on man! I mean, I’ll support you in whatever you want to do, but getting her involved? That’s insane! Spying on other gangs and drug dealers is one thing, but this is a goddamn drug cartel we’re talking about here! If they caught her, they’d send her back to us in little packages! And then we’d be really fucked!”

Bryan knew that his friend was right, and he hated even suggesting it, but Jane was the only informant who had delivered good information and been right every single time. She was an expert at this. “I know it’s a bad idea! It’s a terrible idea, but she hasn’t let us down before! She can handle herself!”

“And if they catch her? She’s a tough nut to crack, but these bastards have their ways. I’ve heard they burn people alive down south.”

“Look, my other guy tells me they’re not expecting trouble from a bunch of street gangs or motorcycle clubs, and we’re both. I trust her with this.”

Mitchell knew he couldn’t get through to him or convince him otherwise of this, so he simply took in another drag and breathed it out slowly. “Alright then, tell me what you want me to do.”

“Tomorrow afternoon, I want you to go down to the waterfront and get her. Bring her here and I’ll talk to her.”

“How do you know she’ll accept?”

“I’ll tell her it’s nobody, some guy who just got into town and is looking to make a name for himself. She’ll buy it, she finds out much more than old Arthur can tell me, and I pay her at the end of the night. It’s simple, but effective.”

“Yeah and what if she doesn’t buy it? She’s young, but she ain’t stupid.” Bryan took another drag, and exhaled. “She’ll buy it. And if she doesn’t, I’ll make her an offer she’d be crazy to pass up.” He put his cigarette out in the ash tray.

——————————————————————————————————————————

_“El?” Mike’s voice was distorted and twisted in the darkness._

_“Mike?” Jane’s voice echoed throughout her surroundings._

_Michael felt his chest, and he felt the warm liquid spewing forth from the left side. He felt strange, sick. Like he was going to collapse._

_And that’s when Eleven screamed._

**Long Island City, New York  
** July 23rd 1993  
01:12 AM

Jane’s eyes opened as she awoke, startled by the same nightmare that had haunted her sleep almost every night for the past five years. She heard the rain of the predicted downpour hammering against the window of the cold office space. The room was dark, lit by a single travelling lamp that she kept by the door.

Jane sat up on her foldable cot, the blankets were on the floor. She must have tossed them in her sleep. She was always afraid to go to sleep, as she worried about that night coming back to haunt her as it so usually did.

Standing up in the cold, dark room, she grabbed her jacket and put it on over her shirt. She had gotten used to sleeping in her clothes, only washing them twice a week when she had the chance. She felt a pain in her lower abdomen; she really needed a piss. Pulling off her beanie hat that she wore practically all the time, she grabbed the travelling lamp from its place by the door and made her way outside onto the catwalk. Even though she was rather light, her weight made the old metal creak and squeal underfoot as she walked toward the stairs.

The warehouse she currently inhabited hadn’t been used since 1981. It was once a part of the local Longshoreman’s Union, until it was closed when it was discovered that gangs both local and foreign were smuggling contraband straight through it. Warehouse 2B and the others like it were scheduled to be demolished next year, but Jane planned to be long gone from New York by then.

She made her way down the steps, taking care with the rusty metal. It was normal for her to wake up in the night, but not so much to be dying for a leak. She really shouldn’t have drank so many glasses of coke earlier that night, but with nothing better to do, she’d gone right ahead.

The warehouse was practically empty save for a few crates that were never collected. She didn’t wonder what was inside of them, she simply didn’t care. Jane made it to the bathroom, holding the lamp out in front of her. The electricity in the building had been shut off years ago. She could’ve turned it on, but without maintenance in the past decade, it was never going to work, so she had to make do. Fortunately however, the water still worked. Jane placed the lamp on the side of the sink, and removing her jeans, sat down on the toilet.

She felt bliss at last.

A minute later, Jane had flushed the toilet and found herself looking into the rusty, cracked bathroom mirror. She washed her hands, and then her face, before looking into the mirror and gazing at her reflection. Joyce had once told her long ago that if you looked at yourself in the mirror for too long, you began to see the devil...or something.

Jane saw no devil, only a freak. A freak who had been told many times that she was beautiful, pretty, attractive etc. With her bob of a chocolate brunette haircut and deep brown eyes, she was indeed rather pretty, she couldn’t lie to herself. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t be a freak.

Dustin had once used the term ‘Hitler was a vegetarian’ to describe something similar a long time ago. She didn’t know who Hitler was at the time, but even now, it didn’t make much sense to her. Jane stared at herself in contempt, willing herself to disappear. But she didn’t disappear, and instead, she continued to stare at herself in the mirror for the next ten minutes.

Like a freak would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to try and add to this story as often as I can. Updates may be slow.
> 
> In my opinion, this won’t be a traditional Stranger Things fanfiction.
> 
> Chapters may still be undergoing editing for typos and errors. So if you spot one, don’t worry, I read it, and I’ll fix it.


	4. Hallucinations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bryan rallies the Charlatans, the FBI locate a prime suspect, and Jane is given a job to do.
> 
> And sanity begins to slip for a certain someone.

**Queens** , **New York**  
**July 23rd 1993**  
**10:49 AM**

For the past hour, 12th Street had known no silence. Motorcycle after Motorcycle had come roaring down the road, arriving at the clubhouse for the meeting that Bryan had called in order to address the looming threat of one Gabriel Montoya.

The club was host to fourteen members, from all across New York City. Many of them made their home right here in Queens, close to the clubhouse itself. But there were many who lived as far away as Greenville.

Bryan had spent two hours earlier that morning calling in every member in his phone book for a meeting to take place 11:00 AM sharp. Mitchell had gone home a little after one in the morning, and he likely wouldn’t be out of bed yet. He knew the situation, which is why he wasn’t so bothered if he didn’t turn up. So long as he went and picked up Jane later in the day, then he had no problem.

Bryan sat in the Club’s meeting room on the second floor, next to his office. He watched with a cup of coffee in his hand as man after man walked in through the door. Some had brought their women, but due to the confidentiality of this situation, they had to stay downstairs at the bar area.

“This better not be anything to do with extortion, Bryan. It’s too early to go kicking down doors for me.”

“Just shut the fuck up and find your seat, it’s your own goddamn fault you were up last night drinking like a fish.” James hadn’t even gone home last night. Instead, he’d fallen asleep on one of the couches and Joe, the Barkeep, didn’t even try to wake him.

He sat down miserably in his seat, quite clearly nursing a hangover. Chuck wasn’t far behind, and Terrence, and then Frank. The room began to fill rather quickly within the next half hour. Simon, Billy, they all came. The only one missing was, as expected, Mitchell. Soon, the door was closed, and the meeting was in session.

“Alright then. Gentleman, thank you all for coming on such short notice. Now, bef-“

“Hold up, where the hell is Mitch?” Asked Simon, pointing at the only empty space at the table. Bryan looked sharply in his direction “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise I was done talking.” Simon sunk back into his seat. “Mitchell is aware of the situation. Besides, I’ve got another job for him this afternoon.”

“So that little bastard gets to sleep in, while I’m over here dying?” Asked James, his hand still holding his head in pain.

“That little bastard didn’t stay up late drinking. Sure, he was up half the night, but he weren’t drinking like you. Now all of you, shut up and listen because this shit is important!”

The room went quiet as they all paid attention.

“Now, I don’t want to hear any questions until I’m done talking, so listen up. Almost four days ago, Gabriel Montoya arrived in New York.”

As expected, the room didn’t stay quiet for long. He didn’t understand much of what they were saying, but he made out a few lines from the guys near the front.

“What?”

“That Fucking Colombian?”

“The hell is he doing here?”

The room was in an uproar over one man’s name. “Hey, hey hey, shut the fuck up!” Bryan yelled over their voices.

“I thought that guy was up in Boston?” Mickey asked.

“He was, but he arrived here less than a week ago. My contact up in Harlem tells me he’s already taken out Luis Santos, and now he plans to move on Jackson.”

“Wait, so he’s absorbing other gangs?”

“He’s absorbing them, or he destroys them, simple as. Now I’ve called all of you here today because we need a civil, collective mind about us. My thinking is that we need to come up with a civilised and peaceful solution, I don’t want any of you assholes dying on me, but we also need to take into account that this may not go so smoothly. We have to be ready to fight if it comes to it.”

There was discussion amongst the table. Some agreed, while others did not.

“Let ourselves be absorbed by some Spic? Over my dead body”

“If Montoya has his way, that’s most likely how it’ll go down. I’m not talking about being absorbed here, I’m talking about cutting a deal with the guy.” Said Bryan.

“And if he doesn’t take that deal? What’s the alternative? Kiss his feet or bite a bullet?” Asked Simon.

“Nobody is biting a bullet, alright? We’re gonna get through this, we’ve faced things like this before.”

“Yeah but Bryan the Hell’s Angels ain’t exactly a goddamn Mexican Cartel!” Chuck pointed out.

“Colombian”

“Mexican, Colombian, who gives a fuck? My point is, these guys ain’t gonna fuck around like any ordinary gang would. I hear these cartel types, the things they do ain’t natural, I mean they’re fucking inhuman, man!”

“I understand that our situation isn’t looking good, which is why what we need right now is information. Hard, solid intel from behind enemy lines. If we get anything on them that could lend us a hand, we use it.”

“This isn’t Kuwait boss. We can’t exactly send a drone or some shit over to Harlem to scout out a bunch of drug dealers.” Billy said.

“I’m talking about informants, jackass. Starting this afternoon, I want you to go out to every one of your contacts that have eyes and ears to the streets and pay them to keep a bead on whatever Montoya is up to. For now, that’s all we do.”

“What about Mitchell? What he’s supposed to be doing today?” James asked.

“Mitch is supposed to be heading over to 54th Street today. He’s gonna collect Miss Russell from the waterfront and bring her here.”

The room was filled with blank stares and confused questions.

“Tell me you’re not gonna be basing your information off the word of some homeless snitch?” Chuck asked.

“We all know that Jane has never let us down before. She’s good at what she does.”

“I know that, but boss, involving her? She weighs less than a sack of flour. If they catch her, they’d fuck her up good.”

“I didn’t know you cared, Chuck.”

“I don’t, but if she gets caught, what’s to stop her from ratting us out as well?”

“Jane won’t get caught, she never has. You need to relax, besides I trust her a lot more than I trust any of the drug addicted talkers you guys have got going.”

“Thanks a lot” muttered Alex.

“Gentlemen, times like these are a test. We need to be ready for any problems when and if they present themselves, you understand.”

“And if the bitch fails? If she’s caught because she forgets to flutter her pretty little eyes like she always does? Isn’t that another problem we need to deal with?” Asked James.

Bryan fixed him with a stern gaze “you just worry about making your contacts work for their living, I’ll worry about mine.

———————————————————————————————————————

**J. Edgar Hoover Building, Washington DC  
** July 23rd 1993  
11:45 AM 

“Ok thank you” The phone landed back on its receiver, and FBI Agent Williams stood up in his seat. He turned toward his superior across the room “Sir, DEA just called, one of Montoya’s aliases just resurfaced in New York.”

Agent Roberts spoke briefly into his phone and then put it down. He walked over to the desk of his partner. “Which one?”

“Ramon Gonzalez. They ran a facial ID, and it checks out. They’re faxing me the information now.” Sure enough, within the next few minutes, a sheet of paper came through on the Fax Machine. Williams ripped it from the printer, and studied it. It was a photo taken from what appeared to be the back of a car. In the picture, Gabriel Montoya could clearly be seen walking down the street somewhere with about six men shadowing him.

“I thought Montoya was last seen up in Boston. It ain’t far, but still. When was this taken?”

“Yonkers, three days ago sir.”

“Alright, get the Albany, Buffalo and City Offices on the line, tell them to put out an APB for Gabriel Montoya in the State of New York.”

———————————————————————————————————————

**Long Island City, New York  
** July 23rd 1993  
12:21 PM 

Jane stared intently at the small tennis ball above her head. It hovered in mid air, slowly turning itself as she studied the curves and lines along the exterior of the sphere. She was currently lay on her cot in the small office room of Warehouse 2B, and the early afternoon sun blazed in through the windows, painting shadows across the walls and floor.

She lay with her legs crossed and her fingers interlaced as she focused on the little object that she held over her face with nothing more than her brain. She often spent most days like this, bored and with nothing to do.

She liked to exercise her power whenever she could, training herself in case she ever needed to use her abilities for self defence.

Jane wasn’t a malicious person, not by a long shot. She preferred to avoid conflict, but when push came to shove, she wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty.

She kept a small box of tissues on the floor next to her, for whenever the nosebleeds got out of hand. It didn’t take much to irritate her nasal canals when she used her abilities, and therefore she treated it as merely an annoyance.

Jane blinked and her power ceased, and she allowed the ball to drop onto her chest, where it rolled off and onto the floor. It bounced twice before rolling up to the wall and stopping.

She casually reached for the box of tissues and pulled one from the top, wiping away the blood from her nostril. She sighed in boredom as she scrunched up the tissue and threw it into the corner.

She considered twiddling her thumbs. Oh what a joy ride that would be. Sitting up in her little bed, she pushed her back against the wall and brought her knees up. She rested her head against the wall and looked out at the street below. Daydreaming was often the only way she could eliminate boredom without doing anything at all.

However, her earliest upbringing had left her without much of an imagination, so she was often at a loss for what to even daydream about.

After a few minutes she stood up and walked over to her rucksack. Reaching in, she pulled out one of the Hershey’s she’d lifted from a store in Astoria. She ripped the wrapping paper off and took a small, savoury bite. Ever since she had wound up in Maple Street nearly ten years ago, Jane had possessed a passion for sweets. She hadn’t eaten an Eggo for a few months now however.

She once more walked up to the window of the office and stared outside at the yard leading to the street, the high fence and rusted heavy iron gate blocking half of the view. The ground outside was still quite wet from the previous night’s heavy rainfall, and it glistened in the sun.

She unfolded her arms and swallowed her chocolate as she heard the unmistakable sound of a Motorcycle approaching in the street outside the fence. The sound grew louder, and louder, until it was just outside of the front gate. Then it stopped, died down a bit, and disappeared completely. She heard a voice.

“Hey Jane! Jane, are you in there?” It was Mitchell.

“Yo Jane, if you’re in there, I’d like to talk to you!” His calls to her had a sing song, almost playful, tone to them. She rolled her eyes, and dumped the Hershey’s on the cot. She picked up her beanie and her pulled it on, the same with her jacket, and headed out of the office for the stairs.

Jane’s dress sense hadn’t improved much beyond the Tomboyish style she had first picked up in 1984. She currently wore (as she had for the past few months) the same, worn out boots, coupled with a pair of blue jeans. The baggy shirt she wore read Long Island, and was covered up by a dark green jacket.

On her head sat the same Beanie she had worn almost every day for six years when she headed outdoors. It was a grey beanie with the words ‘BELIEVE’ stitched in small white letters on the front.

Jane reached the dirty metal door to the warehouse and opened it. She could hear Mitchell banging on the iron gate. “You better not still be asleep.”

She crossed the yard and arrived at the gate. She made sure she was close to it before using her ‘muscle’ to open it. She flexed her hand up in front of her by her waist, and the gate began to move of its own accord. She saw Mitchell’s face through the gap.

“What do you want, Mitchell?”

“Hey, you know you’ve got a nosebleed?”

Jane felt her upper lip. True to his word, the blood was there, leaking from her nostril. She pulled out a napkin and began to wipe it away. “Thanks, now what do you want?”

“You know I’ll never understand how the hell you move this thing.”

“It’s easier if you pull, now you’re testing my patience.”

“Right, sorry. Just making conversation...since, Bryan wants to talk to you.” Jane felt her eyes subconsciously roll themselves. She slouched in an annoyed manner.

“Urgh...what for?”

“He’s got another job that he wants to offer you. He’ll pay you, like always.”

Jane thought for a moment. She didn’t feel like stressing herself today, she was already in a mood. But then again, she was very bored, and she couldn’t really pass up easy money like this. She sighed “Alright, let’s go.” She forced her thin figure through the gap in the gate.

“Did he say who the target was this time?” Mitchell looked like he had a lump in his throat at that question.

‘ _Just tell her it’s Montoya_ ’ He thought to himself.

“Best if he explains it to you. It’s kind of important, this one.”

‘ _IDIOT_ ’

Jane looked amused, but felt more in the dark than before.

“Alright then, lead the way.”

Mitchell sat on his bike and got it working. It wasn’t long until they were on the road.

———————————————————————————————————————

**26 Federal Plaza, New York  
** July 23rd 1993  
12:30 PM 

“Alright everyone listen up!” Special Agent Keene tacked a photo onto the cork board on the wall. When he was certain he had everyone’s attention, he continued. “Washington Just informed me that Gabriel Montoya has been sighted here in New York City. We’ve put out an APB, the NYPD is gonna keep its eyes wide open. If he’s sighted anywhere in New York, we’ll know about it!”

He turned and pointed to the map he had also pinned up. “Montoya was last sighted up in Yonkers, but we have reason to believe he’s currently in Harlem. Now the Albany and Buffalo offices are staying in their lanes on this one in case he tries leaving the city. Our job is to find him, right here in New York. I hear the DEA are sending some of their best over to try and take this son of a bitch down, so let’s get ready for their arrival. I want teams keeping tabs on different lines of communication. We got a window here people, let’s get to work!”

The office went about in a hurry, Agents heading off to do their own thing. Meanwhile, Keene stood by and watched, before turning once more to look at the photo of Gabriel Montoya.

———————————————————————————————————————

**Hunters Point, Queens  
** July 23rd 1993  
12:35 PM 

 

“Fuck!”

Chuck cursed as the ball just missed the corner pocket. He watched as it spun away to the opposite side of the Pool table.

He and Alex were currently locked in a tense game, a rematch which had been postponed for too long. The last time, Alex had won by default because Chuck had accidentally potted the Eight Ball. It didn’t help when Alex began to laugh, he’d have been angry if he wasn’t so embarrassed.

“You gotta take your time with this man, that’s part of the reason you lost the first time.”

Chuck hated that Alex was right. His father had been a pool champion back in Oregon, and thus he knew all about the tips and tricks that came with playing the game. “Maybe if I took this cue and bashed it upside your head, that would help my goddamn patience.” Alex threw his hands up in surrender “no need to get angry man, just some advice.”

Alex stepped in to take his turn, while Chuck laid his cue down on the rack. He picked up his Bud and took a long swig of it.

“It’s not even one yet, and you’re already drinking. Take a break, man.”

He stopped drinking and stared him down “just stop lecturing me already man! Take your goddamn turn!”

Alex shook his head in annoyance, before lining up his shot. Just then, they heard the door to the club open up. It was Mitchell, and in tow, one Jane Russell. Chuck saw her and glared, he couldn’t believe that Bryan was going to base his information off of this skinny little bitch. “Hey Mitch, looks like you picked up some tail. Or is Bryan gonna have her all to himself?”

Mitchell shot a look at him that screamed murder. “Why don’t you mind your manners, bro?”

“What manners?” He grinned. Alex took his shot and moved it closer, but ultimately missed the pocket. “Hi Jane” Alex called out to her. She noticed him and smiled, giving a friendly half wave.

Mitchell stopped and turned to her “alright, you wait here. I’ll go and see if Bryan’s busy.” Jane nodded, then sighed and put her hands on her hips. Mitchell headed up the stairs behind the bar. Jane looked around the bar area, she had only ever been in the clubhouse a few times, mainly to do business. She spotted a jukebox playing AC/DC in one corner, spewing out loud, heavy tunes.

“Don’t touch anything girl, I mean it!” Chuck said in an intimidating tone. Jane took off her beanie and stuffed it into her jacket pocket.

Chuck leaned over the pool table to take his shot. He closed one eye, and took his time lining up his shot perfectly. He waited for the opportune moment. He pulled back the cue, and shot it forward.

The chalked end impacted the ball, sending it skirting across the table. It was headed straight for the centre pocket, and it looked to be going good.

It was almost at the pocket, and then the impossible happened.

The ball suddenly rolled away from the direction of the pocket and far off target. It tumbled over to the other end of the table and stopped, sitting lifelessly.

“What the fuck?! Did you see that Shit?”

Alex, who didn’t see it, looked up from chalking his pool cue.

“See What Shit?”

“The fucking ball just went in the wrong Fucking direction!”

Alex didn’t seem too convinced. “The ball moved in the wrong direction?”

“I swear to Christ, it avoided the pocket!

“I think you should stop drinking now man.”

Alex simply went back to what he was doing. Chuck threw his cue onto the floor in obvious anger, storming off back to his seat. Jane on the other hand, stood by and watched the commotion, grinning at what had just happened.

Thankfully, she didn’t need a napkin that time. A small nudge like that was child’s play.

Meanwhile, at the top of the stairs, Mitchell was busy knocking on Bryan’s door. “Come in!”

He opened the door and poked his head inside. He saw Bryan sitting at his desk with what appeared to be a photo in his hand.

“Jane’s here, want me to send her up?”

Bryan looked up from the photograph “yeah, please.”

Mitchell came into the room. Bryan noticed his unease. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just....you sure about this? I mean it’s a lot bigger than anything else we’ve given her before.”

“Look pal, we don’t have much of a choice right now. I know how it looks, and I hate to put her in harms way. But she ain’t failed to deliver so far, so I trust her. For now, at least.”

“You sure I can’t change your mind?”

Bryan gave him a look that told him that his mind could not be changed. Mitchell did nothing but sigh, and retreated back though the door.

Meanwhile, as this conversation was happening, Jane found herself leaning against the Juke Box in the bar. She began to look through the selection. They had all kinds of music she loathed, rock songs that you would expect of a Motorcycle Club. But one that stood out to her was the one that she did not expect to be in the box at all.

_Toto: Africa_

Nancy had introduced her to it in the Summer of ‘85. She told her that it was one of her favourite songs, and she could see why. Jane fell in love with the tune instantly, and Nancy had explained to her that it was about some continent across the Atlantic called Africa. She wanted to hear the tune again.

Focusing on the coin mechanism, Jane forced it to activate as if she had just inserted a quarter. The tiny lights next to the selection buttons lit up, and Jane pushed the button next to Africa with her thumb. There was a whir as the machine selected the Vinyl from the list and laid it out on the turntable.  
She watched as the needle came down, landing on the outer edge of the disc. A few seconds later, the familiar opening tune began to play.

Jane felt her head bob in time with the music, as she leant against the box, watching the disc rotate on the little turntable.

She found herself mouthing the words to herself as they surfaced in the song for the first time.

 _‘I hear the drums echoing tonight,_  
_But she hears only whispers of some quiet conversation._  
_She's coming in, 12:30 flight._  
_The moonlit wings reflect the stars that guide me towards salvation._  
_I stopped an old man along the way,_  
_Hoping to find some long forgotten words or ancient melodies.  
He turned to me as if to say, Hurry boy, it's waiting there for you!’_

And then came the best part came in, the chorus. And she basked in it.

‘ _It's gonna take a lot to take me away from you!_  
_There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do!_  
_I bless the rains down in Africa!  
Gonna take some time to do the things we never had!’_

Jane smiled as she closed her eyes and bobbed her head along to the rhythm of the song. Her hair bounced slightly around her ears.

Unfortunately, not everyone in the bar enjoyed the song as much as her. She heard a grating voice come up from the garage.

“Who the hell put this shit on?” James looked over at the Juke Box and saw the culprit standing there. Sighing, she turned around and tucked her hair behind her ears. “Hello, James.”

James didn’t return the sentiment.  
“You! You little bitch! Turn that shit off right now!”

Two minutes later, Mitchell came plodding down the stairs to hear the sound of a commotion. He also heard the sounds of Africa playing on the Juke Box, and when he looked over, he found that Jane was currently toe to toe with James. She was practically dwarfed by the taller man, but she was standing up to him all the same.

“I said get that Shit off right now!”

“I told you already, I’m out of quarters! Why do you even have the song in there if you hate it so much?”

Mitchell noticed for the first time the music of Toto’s ‘Africa’ that was playing throughout the room. Jane had obviously put it on, nobody else here even liked that band. “I didn’t choose the track list, and I don’t care if you have to use toy pennies! Switch it off!”

“James, leave her alone for God’s sake.”

“You taking this little bitches side?”

“Don’t call her that, man. And I’m not taking anyone’s side, alright? Jane, Bryan’s ready to see you, so head on up.”

Jane didn’t move from where she was. She was still currently staring up into the eyes of a much taller and muscular Biker. Her eyes were stone cold and steely, and Mitchell noticed her fists clenched by her sides.

“Mitch here gave you an order, girl” he said in his gravelly voice.

Jane only clenched her fists tighter. She felt the rage bubbling inside of her. She wanted to let loose, oh how badly she wanted to. But she didn’t really have a bad bone in her body, and she just barely managed to hold her anger back. Besides, she couldn’t afford to allow anyone to witness her true power.

“I don’t work for you guys, you need my help, remember?”

Mitchell stepped forward and put his hand on Jane’s shoulder. “Alright that’s enough, come on let’s go.” It took another few seconds, but she finally tore her gaze away from James long enough for Mitchell to guide her away from him. James watched as he took her upstairs, her chocolate bob bouncing with every step she took. He waited until she was out of sight before he turned to the jukebox.

With an exhausted sigh, he stalked over to the machine currently spilling out spiel about ‘the rains down in Africa.’ He grabbed some quarters from his pocket and jammed them into the machine.

Upstairs, Jane was brought to the door she had grown so familiar with. It was made of mahogany, and it reminded her of home. Not bothering to knock, Mitchell simply opened the door this time and motioned for Jane to enter.

Bryan was still sat at his desk, looking at the photo in his hands with an intense focus. He suddenly noticed that the door had been opened.

“Jane! Good to see you. How’s your week been?” He asked her.

Mitchell motioned for her to have a seat across from Bryan in one of two small wooden chairs. She accepted and seated herself. Mitchell took a seat in the chair next to her.

“I’ve been good, thanks.” She said.

“Great. Can I offer you anything? Scotch? Bourbon?”

“You know I don’t drink, Bryan. I’m teetotal.”

Teetotal. Another word she had learned in her five years on the run. A word that was used to class someone as abstaining from consuming any type of alcoholic substance, or something like that.

“Think I’ll have one” he said, reaching under the desk and pulling out his half empty bottle of Scotch. He uncorked it and began to pour it out and into his usual glass. He picked up said glass and took a swig. Leaning back in his chair, he motioned with the glass toward Mitchell, indicating his offer. He shook his head in declination.

“So, down to business I guess. Mitchell explain why I asked for you today?”

She nodded “just the usual, there’s another guy you need me to watch.”

“Did he say who?” Bryan took a quick glance at Mitchell.

“No. He said you would.” Bryan smirked at his trusted friend, and the proceeded to open the floodgates for a wave of bullshit.

“Yeah, that’s right. Well you see this guy, he’s a nobody. Some new kid on the block, looking to make his mark. Trouble is, he’s been stirring up trouble that could be a problem for us. So what I want to really know is how much heat he’s packing with him, and who’s he connected with. Kapeesh?”

Jane leaned in “if he’s a nobody, can’t you just fix this your way? Motorbikes and a lot of guns?”

“We don’t know how organised the guy is” said Mitchell “like he said, we need to know his strengths and his weaknesses.”

“You’re the best one I’ve got for this Jane, I was really hoping you’d agree to do it.” Jane looked between Bryan and Mitchell, who were both waiting for her answer.

“Well, I guess I decided to take it when I came here, and besides, if the money is good?”

“Oh it will be” assured Bryan.

“Alright then, so first things first, I’ll need a picture of him.”

Both men exchanged a look at each other, and then back at her. She looked between them as if they were idiots.

“Hello? I can’t really spy on the guy if I don’t even know what he looks like.”

She was technically right, and both men knew it. But what were the odds this tramp of a girl had even heard of Gabriel Montoya? Well, they didn’t think they were good.

“Er, yeah. Here he is.” He picked up the photo that he had been holding and held it out to her. Jane reached forward and plucked it from his hand. She took a moment to study it, her face practically lacking any expression or emotion. Bryan and Mitchell both patiently waited for a few seconds for her to say something about him.

“So.....as you can probably tell, the guy is Hispanic....is everything okay, Jane?”

Jane looked up from the photo, then back down again “Yeah..it’s just....I just feel like I recognise him.” Bryan and Mitchell didn’t say anything for a while, before Mitchell finally broke the silence.

“His name is Diego Allende. He’s just got into town from California.” Bryan was impressed at how convincing that sounded. Jane didn’t say anything else, instead putting the photograph into her jacket pocket. “How much?” She asked.

Bryan thought a moment, then just randomly came up with a figure.

“I’ll give you four hundred for any viable information you can dig up, that sound fair?”

“Last job was four hundred. You say this one is more important and yet you don’t pay more? What the hell?”

“Look, Jane...”

“Five hundred!” She demanded. Bryan was slightly shocked.

“What? No! Four hundred!”

“Four eighty!”

“Four hundred!”

“Four eighty!”

Bryan could see this wasn’t really going anywhere. “Four fifty, final offer.”

Jane pondered this for a moment, she could’ve really used five hundred. She had burned through the last batch like a drug. Life wasn’t easy on the streets, her last job had been two months ago. Food was expensive in this godforsaken city.

And then there was the matter of her medicine.

“Fine, whatever!” Bryan smiled and slammed his palms down on his desk. He stood up and stretched out his hand “done deal” he said.

“I’ll shake your hand when I see the money.” Jane stood up and pulled her beanie out of her pocket again. She fitted it onto her head. “I’ll talk to you when it’s done.”

Bryan retreated his hand, and watched as Jane turned around and headed for the door. Mitchell turned in his seat as Jane opened the door “Hey, want me to give you a ride home?” He called.

“No” Jane slammed the door behind her. They heard her footsteps plod down the stairs.

Mitchell sighed and stood up.

“So now what?” He asked.

Bryan swirled his drink and took another swig of it.

“Same as always, we wait.”

———————————————————————————————————————

**Long Island City, New York  
** July 23rd 1993  
13:12 PM 

Jane currently sat in her little room at Warehouse 2B. She lay on her bed, one hand behind her head as she studied the person in the photograph. She was certain she had seen him somewhere before, but she couldn’t even remember where.

She thought it was funny, the way your brain allows you to often forget useful or even happy memories, and yet the bad ones never ever go away. She was done looking at this photo, as while she couldn’t remember the guy’s face, he had one of those smug grins that you just wanted to wipe off.

She let the photo fall out of her hands and land on the floor. Sitting up in her cot, she grabbed her beanie off the side of the bed. She now sat, with the hat in her hand, staring at it. She traced her thumb over the white stitching of the word ‘BELIEVE.’

She wanted to hug the beanie close to her and never let it go, but she also wanted to avert her eyes. She loved and hated this thing.

For one, it was the last gift that he had ever gotten for her before he died. Christmas 1987, he had passed it to her as they sat on his sofa by the tree in his families sitting room. She remembered tearing the blue and green wrapping paper to find a soft and fluffy beanie hat that read ‘BELIEVE’ across the front.

“I got it for you because...well, you should always have a reminder to always have faith...or something.” He had told her.

“Something to believe in?” She had asked.

“Yeah. Do you not like it?”

She remembered taking it out of the wrapping and placing it on her head.

“I love it.”

And now, six years later, she found herself subconsciously summoning the lighter she carried with her out of her backpack and toward her hand. She felt the cold metal gently come to rest within her fingers, as she opened the top and sparked it up. The flame came to life in her hand.

She was at a total loss for what to do next. She had often contemplated destroying it, Hell she had even come this close before.

Jane was at her wits end and she hadn’t taken her medicine in a while. She realised that. She realised how much she needed those pills.

Jane felt the flame edging closer to the fabric of the hat. She bit her lip as salty tears stung her eyes, unsure of what to even do. Her hand shook violently. And then a window pane cracked under the mounting stress that she was enduring.

“It’s a good thing you don’t have to pay for that.”

Jane should’ve been startled by the voice, but it was a voice that was all to familiar. And besides, she knew that it was all inside her head.

Flipping the lighter shut, Jane stuffed it into her pocket and and dropped the beanie onto the dusty wooden floor.

“And I thought you’d take more care of that thing, I’m hurt El.” He said in mock-hurt tone.

Jane rolled her eyes at her growing insanity. She huffed and turned to the source of the voice. “Get the hell out of here, Mike!”

Stood across the room, leaning against the wall with folded arms, was Michael Wheeler. Or at least, it was a Michael Wheeler manifested inside of Jane’s mind, created by her deteriorating sanity that she just happened to be fully aware of.

This version of her beloved Mike that now stood before her was the same as every other time. He had his long, dark locks, freckled face and lanky posture. Due to him being an extension of Jane’s mind, he still appeared in the same clothes, and at the same eighteen years of age, that he was when he died five years prior. Jane scowled at how her mind was playing tricks on her, and she scowled at his smug grin.

“El, baby! Please, I thought you’d be happy to see me!” He said, again with the mock-hurt tone.

“Any other time, I would be. But not now. You’re not even real, you’re not Mike!” She yelled at him.

“A minute ago you just addressed me by name....or his name, if you like.” Jane groaned and stood up, heading to her backpack. She could’ve used her powers for this but she didn’t want to push herself unnecessarily any further when she was currently hallucinating that her dead boyfriend was stood in the room making conversation with her.

“You’re not gonna take more of those pills are you? I get so bored on my own.”

Jane didn’t say anything, she simply found the pill bottle and pulled the cap off of the top. “No, El, please come on! I don’t want to disappear again!”

“Just shut the hell up!” She sat down on her cot and emptied out two pills out from the few that were left into the palm of her hand. “No, wait, I want to talk to you!”

“There’s nothing for us to talk about. You’re dead, and I can’t change that.” She shoved the two pills into her mouth one at a time and swallowed them, using her saliva. She felt them go down, and it wouldn’t be long before they took effect.

Jane broke down crying as she began to feel her rational thoughts return. Mike, or to be more precise, the hallucination or Mike, seeing his girl in such a state, unfolded his arms and walked over to her. Her sobs were loud within the tiny room, and Mike sat down on the cot next to her. He looked as if he wanted to comfort her, but obviously he physically couldn’t.

“What are you so afraid of? That I’ll die twice? We both know that’s not gonna happen.”

Jane didn’t stop crying, instead it only got more intense. She could feel Mike vanishing from right beside her.

“When you feel that you’re really ready to talk to me, just stop taking the pills.” It sounded a lot more like was begging, than trying to be honest. Of course, this was all just Jane’s brilliant mind playing tricks on her. She often wondered if she had inherited that trait from her mother, who had ended up a nut-ball herself, but not by any fault of her own.

Jane wiped away the tears to see that Hallucination Mike had disappeared completely. Jane sighed in relief, but this relief turned to anger and frustration when she realised that her pill pot was now just about empty, and in her rage, she threw it against the wall as her senses came flooding back to her.

She needed to get the medicine soon, or Mike would undoubtedly return to haunt her one way or another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as you’ve probably guessed, some form of Mileven will in fact be in the story, but Mike Wheeler will only appear as one of two forms at any time.
> 
> Introducing Hallucinatory Mike, who plays a part in Eleven losing her grip on reality as the years spent on the run begin to take their toll.


	5. The Hunter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane dives into the darkest reaches of her mind to locate and observe Gabriel Montoya for the Charlatans, all the while being unaware of whom he truly is. 
> 
> Meanwhile, a familiar face tracks down her latest target, and the FBI gain a new lead.

**Long Island City, New York**  
**July 23rd 1993**  
**20:19 PM**

Jane gently chewed on the Hershey bar as she studied the photograph in her hand. She savoured every delicious bite of the succulent chocolate, while also observing the features of the Hispanic man in the picture. She was certain that she had seen the man somewhere before in the past, but she couldn’t pinpoint where exactly.

She swallowed the mushed up piece of chocolate in her mouth and dumped what little was left back into her rucksack. She held out her hand and felt the familiar growing tensity in her brain. Her psychic fishing line dove into the bag, hooking itself on what exactly she was looking for. With a rustle, the small Transistor Radio levitated upwards and out of the opening. It was a tiny thing, coloured Black with red markings to indicate the channels.

The transistor made its way through the air slowly, the power of her mind bringing it forth and into her hand. Jane held it up into the dying light of the sun as it sunk behind the New York skyline. The orange light came in through the window and cast shadows across the wall, of herself and of the little radio in her hand. She turned the dial on the side of the device, clicking it on, causing it to crackle into life. She adjusted the dial until she stopped on a channel that was nothing but muffled static.

“ _Perfect_ ” she thought.

Jane placed the radio down on her cot, and then reached behind her for the large piece of cloth she had retrieved from her bag earlier. She placed it around her eyes, creating a blindfold that obscured her vision completely, and tightened it into a knot at the back of her head. She had grown used to performing this procedure, for the past nine years it has been a completely normal routine for her. That is, whenever she felt like being anywhere else.

Jane’s Psionic abilities didn’t just grant her the power of Telekinesis, but also a unique form of Telepathy; while she could not read the minds of others or manipulate them (at least not with her brain) in any way, she could however seek out and locate anyone that she wanted and learn their location anywhere on Planet Earth at any given time.  
Simply put, if she wanted to find someone, then there was absolutely no way you could hide from her. She would always find you, or at least discover where you were.  
She sighed, and picked the little photograph up from off of her knee. She gripped it tightly in her hand, as if holding on for dear life. She allowed her mind to run its course, and she felt that feeling again. She heard the usual ringing in her ears, as she tried to focus, and focus hard on the man in the photo. It wasn’t long before she was experiencing what anyone else would only describe as merely a bizarre dream.

Soon, as she concentrated on the sound of static being emitted from the radio, the real world faded away. Her thoughts were cleared of any clouds that were present, and the darkness that surrounded her vision became more and more real as it swamped her mind.

She suddenly found herself not sat on her cot in a dilapidated warehouse in New York City, but stood in a dark, mysterious and unnatural place. There was nothing but darkness, for as far as the eye could see, and yet the surrounding area was as clear and as bright as a darkened field under the light of the moon. She shifted her feet and felt the all too familiar feeling of shallow water beneath her feet. It was the only ground available to tread on in this dark plane of existence.

Jane was now in the world between worlds, a gap in time and space. A place she could visit from within the confines of her powerful mind, only to observe, never to interfere. Here she could stand by and watch the people that she wished to watch for as long as she so pleased, any time, any place, all over the world, without them ever knowing that she was there. Jane didn’t really have a name for this place that she had the ability to access, she never really needed one. For many years, Jane hadn’t had to set foot in this part of her subconscious, as she had no reason to do so.  
It was because of this that she found it so hard to access it again when the time came that she had need of it. Of course, that all changed a few years back.

The Charlatans had no idea how Jane was able to gather so much useful information, or how she never even got caught. Truth be told, it was for the best that they never found out.  
While Bryan held her in high regard for her talents, many of the gang were highly suspicious of her, and she knew it. She had watched them more times than she’d care to admit, calling her names like ‘bitch’ and ‘slut.’

‘Homeless snitch’ was by far her favourite.

As far as she knew, Bryan had never called her any of these names, and she hadn’t caught Mitchell calling her anything either. She wouldn’t consider either men her friends, close friends anyway, but she was rather fond of them, especially Mitchell. And Bryan was nothing short of professional when it came to talking business with her. She decided that this was the reason she had stayed in New York for so long, despite it going against her rule of not developing attachments. These guys were simply put, cool.

Jane scanned the surrounding darkness for any signs of life. The way this worked, and she wasn’t sure how, was that if she focused on a person who she wanted to find hard enough, they would appear alongside her in this black void of hers.

At the moment however, she couldn’t see or hear anyone. Then it began to slip into existence, a sound at first, barely audible to her ears. It was a male voice, speaking in a foreign language. She turned in the direction of the voice, and her eyes landed upon a distant figure, someone who was seemingly talking to himself. Jane however knew he was talking to someone else, and that she just couldn’t see them.

Turning her body in his direction, Jane began to walk toward the man, who as she drew closer, became more clear. He was dressed in a dark grey suit, jacket and pants both. His shirt appeared to be a dark white colour with the collar unbuttoned. He wore no tie. His skin was tanned, his hair black and styled, with a black goatee surrounding his mouth. He continued to speak in a different language, his hands on his hips as he obviously became more agitated and annoyed with whomever he was speaking with.

“No me importa una mierda si el Ejército se interpone en tu camino, si no conseguimos su precinto en nuestro bolsillo, eso podría traernos problemas en el futuro. Así que tienes a ese bastardo en la nómina antes de la próxima semana, ¿entiendes?”  
He spoke in a loud tone, which echoed around the black space.  
Jane didn’t really know immediately what language he was speaking, but since he was stated to be Hispanic and that Bryan had said his name was Diego, she assumed him to be speaking Spanish. Of course, it would be plainly obvious to anyone else. But Jane wasn’t like everyone else.

She watched him continue to talk in his native language at whoever else was stood in the room with him. He began to pivot in place, clearly talking to multiple unseen individuals. Eventually, he clapped his hands together and motioned for the invisible hoodlums to leave his presence. He then turned and walked a few paces, before sitting down in an invisible chair, leaning on an invisible desk. Jane watched as he reached down and picked something up. He then pressed his fingers down on a hard surface, and she realised that he was using a Telephone.

He put his hand up to his head, the phone being non-existent to her eyes. It was actually quite comical, watching him sitting on thin air about to talk into an ‘imaginary’ phone. He looked like one of those French performers that she had once seen on the TV. After a moment, he began to speak into the phone, this time in accented English.

“Hello, it’s me. I’m calling to ask how the investigation is handling. I’m currently struggling to get the captain of the precinct around here on the payroll, you know how these Italians are. I was just wondering if you’d heard anything from him, my last talk with him was nearly two hours ago.”

There was a pause in the conversation as the person on the other end of the line was most likely speaking. She watched as this Diego guy darted his eyes back at something else in the room, and then at the phone.

“Okay, that’s good. Do you know if your boss has a fix on where we’re based at yet?”

Another pause.

“Well you find out that alright? You know how much I’m paying you for this, don’t fuck it up! Listen, I’ll call you tomorrow at four, and you better have solid information for me by then, Goodbye.” He put the phone down and turned to someone else who was stood in the room.  
“Asegúrese de tener el producto listo para mudarse mañana por la tarde. No quiero que me atrapen con los pantalones alrededor de los tobillos” he spoke again in Spanish, or whatever it was supposed to be.

“vamos, vamos a inspeccionar la producción.” And with that, he stood up to leave. Before he could vanish from sight like he was nothing but smoke, Jane focused her power intensely on the area surrounding this man. She had done this a dozen times before, but it didn’t get any easier. For some reason, the more she did it, the harder it became to channel the power. In her brief burst of energy, she wasn’t able to make out much, but she found him exiting a door that materialised into being.

He walked out onto what seemed to be an iron catwalk. The entire building hadn’t appeared yet, and at this rate, she doubted that it would. She felt her strength waning as her focus dragged on. She was about to give up and settle for what we knew, but then she spotted something just off in the background. Something nailed to a brick wall, a sign of some kind.

It wasn’t very clear, combined with her fading strength, the rusted metal made it difficult to read what was on it. But she made out merely a few dirty white letters in upper case:

‘ _JE-F-R-ON M-AT’_

The writing on the second line down was more clear, and it said ‘W 215 Street.’ That should’ve been easy enough, there can’t have been that many places in New York that were named W 215 Street.

Jane finally let the vision dissipate, and her mark, his location, it all vanished as if it were nothing but steam. She finally released her focus, and reality seemed to come rushing back to her like she was waking up from a strange dream. The darkness left her surroundings, and suddenly she saw the gaps of light peeking under the blindfold. She tore it off and found that her hair was matter against her head with sweat, which glistened in the light of the camping lantern as it trickled down her cheeks.  
She took in heavy breaths as she let the cool air wash over her warm body, and she made a mental note to not do anything like that again for a short while. Using that part of her was pushing her too much now, and despite only being 22, she felt a lot more older than that, and more tired and more weak as a result.

Edging off the bed, Jane reached into her backpack and pulled out a digital watch. It read 21:33; she had been in her little world for over an hour, despite it only feeling as though mere minutes had passed for her. She was overwhelmed by the whole experience, she had gotten the information she had needed for the time being, some of it anyway, but it had taken a lot out of her to get it.

Jane had spent most of her life doing what other people wanted, using her gifts for the benefit of others. Most of the time she had done it against her will, others she had submitted to it willingly. And while she was constantly told by her friends that she was special, it didn’t make her feel any less different. A freak amongst regular people in a regular, miserable world.

And right now, she just wanted to close her eyes and forget that the rest of this miserable world existed.

———————————————————————————————————————  
**Denver, Colorado  
** July 23rd 1993  
19:35 PM (Local Time)

The lock finally clicked open, and she removed the lockpick from the keyhole. It had taken her a while to master this skill, but when she finally got a handle on it, she found that it was quite an easy skill. Slowly, she pulled on the door handle, silently praying that there wasn’t an alarm fitted. Thankfully, as the door creaked open little by little, no alarm sounded. Instead, her eyes were greeted to a small light coming from down the darkened hall. She quietly stood up, and turned her head in different directions, checking to make sure that nobody was watching her or had seen her little break in. The sun hadn’t completely set yet, as it always went down late in summer.

Under the light of the back porch she found herself on, Kali reached into her jacket and felt her hand press against cold metal. She carefully fished out the small handgun, a Walther PPK/S handgun, chambered for .22 LR caliber. She pulled the magazine and checked it, finding all ten rounds just the way they had been inserted. It had become second nature for her to check if her guns were loaded ever since an incident back in 1989 had left her with a nasty .45 wound in her right shoulder. She pushed the magazine back into the grip, and then reached into her jacket pocket.

She pulled out a long, cylindrical object; a Suppressor. Taking care under the light of the porch, she placed it on the end of the barrel and began to screw it on. Eventually it was good and tight, connected to the gun, like it was a part of it now. She had learned long ago that if nobody heard your gunshots, there would be no reason to call the police.

Kali pulled the slide back on the weapon to chamber a round; it was now properly loaded and ready to fire. Gun ready in both hands, she stepped through the door and into the building. Kali slowly made her way down the dark corridor of the house. She was near invisible in the darkness, her black attire preventing her from being seen. The weapon glinted in the light coming from down the hallway, and she made her way for it. She began to hear what sounded like a football game on the TV, and as she made her way closer to it, she stopped to take notice of a group of picture frames hanging from the wall on the left side of the hall. She saw that they were certificates, awards and commendations. One had three medals sitting inside of it, while another was the owner of the house shaking hands with one of the previous Presidents of the United States.

Kali felt repulsed to look at them, knowing what this man had done in the past and what he was currently still doing gave her chills. She continued on past the picture frames, making a mental note to destroy the Fucking things on her way out. Eventually Kali got to the corner where the lights and sounds were coming from, trying to keep her feet from creaking on the floorboards too much. Pressing her back up against the wall, Kali held the gun close to her chest.

She’d had plenty of practice shooting people in the face, but this one was different. She knew full well the consequences of failure, should he overpower her and take her firearm. But she needed to do this, she needed to try. This man was an animal, and it was time for him to be put down like one. Mustering up her courage, Kali began to turn the corner, pistol at the ready. Peeking into the room, she got a glimpse of the large TV in the far corner of the room, with the aforementioned football game being broadcast onto the screen. The room was lit by a single light, a small lamp in the opposite corner that projected a yellow glow across the room.

Kali smelled beer, and a spicy odour of what appeared to be Chinese food. Her eyes set on her target for tonight, sitting in an armchair. He had his back to her, his eyes apparently glued to the television set. He could’ve been asleep, but Kali couldn’t hear any snoring or heavy breathing. He was most likely awake, and unaware of her presence.

She let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. She didn’t have any problem killing before, but with this man it was different. This man had done so many terrible things in the name of his country and ‘democracy’ that one had to wonder how he had ever gotten away without repercussions. Kali felt her hands begin to subconsciously aim the gun at the back of his head. She placed her finger away from the safe position and onto the trigger, preparing to fire and kill this bastard once and for all.

“You know I feel kind of let down. I hear that You’ve been searching all this time for me, and when you finally get here, you’re just gonna shoot me in the back and paint my brains all over the wall? Pretty disappointing if you ask me.”

Kali was utterly shocked, so shocked that she nearly pulled the trigger before she was actually good and ready, so shocked that she nearly dropped the actual weapon. He knew she was there and in his house, had she been so obvious?

“Goddamn squeaky floorboards make you louder than an elephant. So are you not going to come over here? It’s alright, I promise I won’t fight you. I just want to talk before I go.” Kali’s shock turned to surprise and confusion. He wanted her to kill him? More so, he wanted to actually talk to his killer before she did the deed? “I’m quite happy back here thanks.” She told him.

Kali saw his head tilt a little to the left “I know your voice. So it really is you” he slowly leaned forward in his chair and turned around to look Kali in her eyes. After spending so long looking at photographs, she finally had a first hand view of this bastard’s face. He had short greying hair, and a large grey beard to match. His eyes were a striking blue, and his skin pale and dirty. He had a large scar across his nose, continuing down the right cheek. He grinned at her, and she saw that he had crooked, yellowing teeth. He clearly didn’t care too much about personal hygiene, at least not anymore.

“The mysterious Kali Prasad. The boys in white coats used to call you Eight, if I remember correctly.”

“That’s a name I left behind, a long time ago.”

“It’s not a name you can easily forget though, am I right? I mean, how do you forget a name like Number Eight?”

“At least my parents didn’t name me Gaylord” Kali quipped back, annoyed by his lack of fear.

“My mother was French. Besides, I left that name behind as well. People call me Gregg now.”

“You really know how to pick your friends then, I see.”

‘Gregg’ knew what Kali was playing at. She wouldn’t have found him unless someone had ratted him out in the end. He knew someone must have talked.

“So who gave me up in the end?” He asked her.

“It was tough tracking you down, I’ll admit. But through all the shit, all the heat, I’ve never stopped. I knew I’d get to you eventually. It was just a matter of patience” she said, never once lowering her gun.  
“It was Irons who gave me what I wanted in the end. He didn’t know much, but he knew where you were living now. Seems he was one of the few people you actually kept in touch with. Odd, considering he kept much to himself.”

“I heard on the news that he got whacked with a thirty eight, but that sure ain’t no thirty eight in your hands” he was referring to the German handgun aimed at his head as opposed to the revolver that had reportedly killed Irons.

“I had to ditch it.”

“So you got yourself a little pop gun instead...guessing via fence, otherwise I’d have the fifteen day waiting period to thank for saving my life.”

“I don’t understand” said Kali “you’ve been waiting for this?”

Gregg smirked. “You know, when I heard that somebody was offing everyone who was involved in what happened in that piece of shit lab, I kind of expected Eleven would be the one who came for me, especially after what happened with that Boyfriend of hers. If it was, she’d have more of a chance.”

His smirk grew wider. “You see, you ice me, you may as well be putting that gun to your head and using it on yourself. The people I report to won’t let my death go so lightly, and they’re gonna hunt you with everything they got.”

Kali raised the gun a little higher in her hands as she moved the left and into the room, taking care to stand well away from this guy. “If it means I get rid of you, then it’s a chance I’m willing to take. I know what you’ve done, and you don’t deserve to live!”

Kali huffed in anger, but Gregg simply raised his hands “No, I don’t. You’re absolutely right. I’ve done bad shit in my time, bad shit in places like ‘Nam, and then I did even worse things when I was working Black Ops. Now I’m just somebody’s little errand boy, taking more orders and carrying out the dirty work.”

Gregg settled back into his seat as Kali made her way around the chair to face him. He pressed a button on his remote and switched the TV off. “You know once I’m gone, they’ll just find somebody worse to do the job. And if that ever happens...”

He began to reach into his pocket, but Kali took a step forward with the gun. Gregg hesitated, “relax, it’s a key. Besides, I’m a dead man anyway.” True to his word, he pulled a key out of his trouser pocket. It was a small, old fashioned key made of brass. He held it out for her to see, and then placed it down on the coffee table next to him.

“What does it unlock?” She asked him.

“There’s a safe back there, in my office. It’s got everything in it that I’ve already reported to my superiors. You might as well take it, you’ll need it more than I do. Years of searching, important information on my targets. You’ll see.”

Kali readied the weapon once more. “If it’s any consolation to you...”

“Don’t. Don’t try that bullshit with me, it’s not like you actually care. You’re bringing this on yourself. Now just kill me already.”

Kali breathed in frustration. “Like you said, I guess I’ll see.” Gregg said nothing, he just sat there staring at her.

She pulled the trigger, and there were two muffled cracks as she fired one shot, and then another, the slide blowing back, and two small puffs of smoke ejecting from the suppressor. Gregg didn’t hear the second shot.

The armchair and most of the wall behind it were now repainted with a dark red, dotted with small pieces of brain matter. He went limp in his seat, as the blood flowed out of the exit wounds and down the back of the seat. A small amount also fell from the entry wounds. Kali released the hammer on her handgun and unscrewed the suppressor. She placed both items back inside of her jacket pockets. She observed the brass key that now resides on the coffee table next to his corpse.

She picked it up and looked back into the hallway, and then walked back into the dark corridor. She checked multiple rooms, his bedroom and bathroom, before finding the door to what was apparently his study. She felt beside the now open door for a switch, and flicked it on. The room was illuminated with light, and she saw a large, wooden desk pushed up against the wall. There was a cork board nearby with photographs and sheets of paper tacked onto it, connected with pieces of string. There was also a large map of the United States on the wall.

She noticed that the desk was covered in files and other such documents, which she began to rummage through. There wasn’t much there, except for information on the past operations of the DOE across the country. Kali decided to find the safe, and it didn’t take long. It was a large old relatively old one, built with iron. It didn’t require a combination, simply a key, hinting at how cheaply made it must’ve been. She took the key left by Gregg and inserted it into the keyhole, turning it and hearing it click. Opening it up, Kali moved aside slightly to allow the light from the ceiling illuminate the interior. There were numerous stacks of files inside, and a binder of photographs.

Gregg certainly lived up to his nickname, ‘ _The Hunter_.’

Kali must’ve been there for another ten minutes, laying out the files on the floor, skimming through each one. Eventually, she came across hers, marked ‘008’ and put it aside for later reading. Soon after, there was another folder that caught her eye. She moved one other away from the top of it, and was greeted by the three black numbers typed onto the front cover.

‘011’

Kali slowly picked it up and studied it, finding it to be thicker than most of the others. She opened it up to one of the first few pages, which listed off the things that Number Eleven could do.

‘Telekinesis: subject has the ability to manipulate objects from a distance.’  
‘Extra-Sensory Perception: subject can seek out and locate individuals by mentally accessing an extra-dimensional plane of reality.’  
‘Reality Warping: subject has been known to create and close holes in the fabric of reality, allowing for access to a parallel dimension.’

Kali read a bit more before closing the file. She then picked up the binder filled with photographs and opened it, skimming through pictures of numerous different subjects. Eventually she once again landed on Eleven, but it wasn’t the fact that it was Jane that startled Kali. It was the fact that it was a photo of Jane taken very recently as a still from CCTV footage. The date and time was marked as July 18th 1993, 17:01 PM. Kali removed the photo from the binder to observe it better, seeing that she was stood outside a bar somewhere, with a large man and a smaller man, both of whom appeared to be some kind of Bikers. She studied their faces a bit more before flipping it over. There was writing on the back written in red pen.

‘Queens, NYC. 011 and Bikers?’

Kali felt panic rising in her gut. ‘Everything in it that I’ve already reported to my superiors’ was what he had said. She looked up at the map on the wall, and placing the photo down, she stood up and walked up to it. She found the city of New York in the top right corner, and as she feared, it was marked with a bright red tack. It had more red handwriting on it.

‘011 in New York’ it said.

“Shit”

Kali uttered the phrase to herself. If he had indeed already reported this finding to his people, then Jane was already in trouble. They knew she was in New York, specifically involving herself with Bikers in Queens. If they hadn’t found her already, they soon would.

Kali turned and quickly gathered up the photo binder, along with Jane’s file and her own. She began to run out of the house to her car parked, which was down the street. There wasn’t anybody out at this time, and she thanked the maker for that. There couldn’t be any witnesses to what she was about to do. Kali found her car again, a 1979 Oldsmobile Custom Cruiser.

Unlocking the passenger side door, she dumped the files inside of the car. Then she made her way around to the trunk, finding what she wanted.

A Jerrycan filled with petrol. She reached in and grabbed it, and closing the trunk, she returned to the house.

Kali was surprised at how quickly she managed to coat the study with the flammable substance. She covered everything with it, even the cork board, before throwing the empty can outside the back door.

Kali reached into her other pocket and pulled out a metal lighter. She flicked it open and sparked it up, the flame warm in her hands. She hesitated for a moment, before lifting her arm back and throwing it into the room in a very angry way. It landed on the stack of papers left on the floor and ignited the petrol. It didn’t take long before the entire room was ablaze.

Kali waited until she was certain the fire would spread, and the left through the back door once more. She collected the jerrycan and proceeded to head around the side of the house and back to the street. She heard a window crack and shatter somewhere on the building, as the fire began to engulf the entire bungalow. She imagined those pretty medals and commendations melting in their place on the wall. It was a satisfying thought that almost made her smile. She thought of the corpse of Gaylord ‘Gregg’ Wilson roasting in the chair she killed him in, like the hell fire he so deserved in his death.

Kali packed away the jerrycan and then sat in her station wagon down the road. She enjoyed watching the building burn, knowing that despite what people would think, she had done a good thing. The flames burst through the front window, erupting through the broken glass.

She heard the approaching sirens of the Denver Fire Department drawing closer, and so she turned the key in the ignition and started the engine. She put it in gear just as the trucks began to turn the corner down the street, and she quickly drove away.

Kali now had a much more important mission to fulfil. Those fuckers who had caused Jane so much misery were now after her once more, and if Gregg was indeed to be believed, then they knew she was in New York. It was a long journey, but Kali needed to get to Queens. She needed to find her sister and warn her, if it wasn’t too late already.

She just prayed that it actually wasn’t too late. Jane was powerful and could defend herself when she needed to, but she was still just a Human, just a girl made of flesh and blood. And if they took her by surprise, then there would be little she could do to avoid them.

And so she made for the recently completed Interstate 70, headed East. She could find her way to New York from there.

Kali was going to help her sister, whether she wanted her help or not.

 

———————————————————————————————————————  
**26 Federal Plaza, New York  
** July 24th 1993  
07:51 AM

Agent Keene sipped his coffee as he observed the reports currently flooding his desk. For the past nineteen hours, the Agency had been hard at work tracking down Gabriel Montoya, working with the DEA to try and nail the bastard once and for all.

He looked over a report that had last pinned Montoya somewhere in Harlem, but another claimed him to have been last seen further Upstate. It was rather frustrating, and also quite infuriating. Keene put his cup down and rubbed his temples. He hadn’t been to sleep in quite some time, and he was beginning to feel it.

There was a knock at the door. Keene looked up from his work to see his partner Agent Barnes stood in the doorway with Special Agent Dixon of the DEA. “What’s going on, Fred?” He asked him.

“Boss, we have something out here that we think you might like to see” He said, motioning over his shoulder with his thumb. Keene pushed his chair out and stood up from his desk, moving around to the two men “What is it?” Barnes motioned for him to follow, and they headed out the door toward the corner of the office. A small Television set had been set up with a VHS hooked up to it. The image was paused, but Barnes picked up the remote and pressed play once more.

On the black and white grainy image were multiple bikers, a lot in fact, pulling up outside a building. They were all parking up their rides, getting off and heading into the building. “How is this relevant?” Asked Keene.

“This video was recorded from CCTV outside a liquor store in Queens. If you’ll notice, the time and date on the video” he paused the image and pointed to the corner of the screen “is dated yesterday, at approximately 10:50 AM, almost an hour after Washington learned about Montoya being in the city. Now our source in Queens says that these guys were gathering for some big important meeting that doesn’t happen often.”

“And you think the reason might be Montoya?”

“Correct. Club calls themselves the Charlatans, they’re local and into most things illegal, but the NYPD haven’t really had any major problems when it comes to them. They’re a relatively new Gang, formed not even two years ago.”

“So what would you suggest?” Keene Asked.

Barnes looked up from the TV, hands still on his hips. “Well to be honest I was kind of hoping you had some idea. Think we should head down there and ask some questions?”

“No, too much risk involved. We don’t want Montoya to know we’re on to him, if these guys are talking to him, it could jeopardise the whole operation.” Keene started to think for a moment.

“I want a surveillance team posted in Queens from now on. Whether they’re working with the guy or not, If these guys know something about Montoya that we don’t, then we need to learn it pretty fucking quick.”

“See if you can also get any information on the members of the club, and their associates as well. It may give us something, at least one of them has to have something we can use.” Said Special Agent Dixon.

“Alright, Barnes start going through anything you can find in them. Their police records if they have them, military history, previous convictions, medical history, dental records, whatever. I wanna know about it. I wanna know who they talk to as well.”

“On it” Said Barnes.

Keene turned back to the image currently frozen onto the screen. He observed their motorcycles, and the men themselves. He mentally noted the appearance of the building just in case, and then he sighed to himself.

“What the hell do you bastards know that we don’t?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a while but I’ve been quite busy. Do hope you enjoy it, let me know what you think. More exposition will be given on Gaylord ‘Gregg’ Wilson later.
> 
>  
> 
> I picked the name Gaylord simply because the character is/was a dangerous man with a rather unusual name. it’s uncommon to hear such a name in the United States. The name is Norman-French, and means “high spirited/boisterous”
> 
> Just in case it gave you the giggles.


End file.
